


excerpts from a fic I'll never write

by comealongpixie



Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Sex Dreams, Sex Pollen, Smut, mentions of macy vaughn, mentions of mel vera, sisfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 09:12:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18808153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comealongpixie/pseuds/comealongpixie
Summary: Some drabbles I wrote about an OC that I'll probably never turn into a real fic but thought I'd post anyway. Includes Harry/OC UST and smut, and some gen Maggie/OFC.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When I first started watching the show I instantly wanted to make an OC. Eventually I lost interest in the show because the moral absolutism got to be too much for me. These are just some things I wrote up while I was still planning on writing that fic. 
> 
> Some context:  
> \--The OC's name is Mina  
> \--She is Mel, Maggie and Macy's sister  
> \--She grew up with Mel and Maggie  
> \--She left the family sometime before the series and came back when Marisol died.  
> \--The reason for this is that she was sexually assaulted by Professor Thaine/Taydeus before the events of the series and she (unfairly) held herself responsible for what happened to Angela Wu.  
> \--Her faceclaim was going to be Denise Bidot.
> 
> I had some worldbuilding plans on how a fourth sister would fit into the charmed one thing (it had to do with the four elements) but it's not that important for the purposes of this fic. I'll go into further context as needed. 
> 
> This takes place during 1.02 directly after they defeat the imposter demon. Bear in mind that everything here is unbeta'd.

“Explain to me again why you can’t just heal yourself,” she says. Her sisters are upstairs--dealing with the aftermath of the imposter demon, or calling Sorority sisters/friends/girlfriends/whoever. She doesn’t want to disturb them. And maybe part of her just wants them to stay upstairs--wants this, him, all to herself, just for the moment. 

 

She shoves the thought out of her head as she carries the first aid supplies to the table. Harry is lounging in one of the dining chairs, still looking exhausted, but more comfortable now, at least. Like he’s not being held on a string by formalities and delicate English manners. 

 

“My powers stem from my mission, which is helping witches. Healing others comes easily; healing myself is trickier.”

 

“Sounds like a stupid formality.”

 

“You’re not wrong about that,” he replies, sitting up a bit. She smiles a little and takes the seat next to his. 

 

“And there’s no way for me to use magic to heal you?”

 

“There certainly is, but teaching you to do it would take longer than using these.” He picks up a box of band-aids and holds it up to illustrate his point. She slaps his hand, and he drops them.

 

“You should teach me.”

 

“I will. I just think we’ve all been through enough tonight.”

 

She looks at him. His eyes are soft, and less guarded than usual, and so, so green, she could drown in them. There’s a slight smile on his face, a tiny upturn of his lips, and it’s so subtle but it still feels so familiar, so intimate, like an inside joke--

 

She shakes her head and looks back at the supplies, pulling out the alcohol wipes. “You’re not wrong about that.”

 

She hears him chuckle as she tears open the packaging, and she pulls out the toilette, looking up. “This is going to sting,” she tells him. 

 

“I’m not unfamiliar with--” he cuts off his statement as the alcohol hits his wound and he makes an abrupt hissing sound. It’s so unexpected, she can’t help but giggle at it, and he shoots her an unamused look. She just smirks and picks up the skin glue. 

 

She feels his eyes on her as she unscrews the cap, applying the glue to her own finger, and it’s a decidedly unsexy action to be taking, but the weight of his gaze on her makes her shiver anyway. She hopes it’s not obvious. 

 

She looks up, passing over his eyes for the wound above them. She can’t let herself get lost in his eyes again. Instead, she applies the glue gently, using a light touch and going a centimeter at a time. She pretends not to notice when his eyes slip shut, when he swallows hard under her touch. She’s imagining it, she decides. Harry has been nothing but cordial with the four of them the entire time they’ve known him. There’s no reason to believe that’s somehow changed directly after they accused him of killing their mother and almost killed him in turn. 

 

He’s quieter when she applies the alcohol this time, and as she picks up the glue again, he says “you look disappointed.” She glances over to find him smiling. 

 

“Oh, you know,” she says. “It’s fun to make you British guys squirm.”

 

She realizes the implication of her words immediately after saying them, but pretends that she doesn’t. Pretends it was an innocent comment, that she’d never even think about innuendo around him. Pretends he isn’t flushing. 

 

“And what, pray tell, does my country of origin have to do with this?”

 

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she tells him, smearing the skin glue across his cheekbone gently, “but you’re kind of the quintessential stuffy English white dude.”

 

“...What is the right way to take that, exactly?”

 

“With self-awareness, and a strong sense of a humor.”

 

“I suppose I’ll have to work on that.”

 

“If you want to hang out with this family? Yeah.”

 

Another alcohol swab. The cut on Harry’s neck is the longest yet, but he doesn’t make a sound this time when she sterilizes it. Again, she sees his eyes slip shut, and she takes the opportunity to glance over him, following the angle of his shoulders, his arms. He has one hand resting on his knee, his nails digging into the fabric, like he’s holding back that pained hissing sound. 

 

He does that same strained gesture when she starts to apply the skin glue, like he’s trying to hold himself back from something.

 

In a fit of bravery, or stupidity, or something else, she taps the back of his hand with a single finger, gently. “Keep doing that, I’ll have more wounds to patch up soon,” she says softly.

 

His hand falls limp, slowly. “Duly noted,” he says. 

 

“Good.” She forces herself not to rush fixing the neck wound. Part of her wants this to be over, wants to run from this room, escape how thick the air is, how hard it is to breathe. 

 

The other part of her wants it to last forever. 

 

She applies the skin glue slowly, with feather-light fingers, and pretends not to notice him swallow hard under her touch, tensing the closer she gets to his shoulder, the way he barely holds back a shiver when the back of her hand accidentally brushes against his jaw.

 

She watches him for a moment after she’s done, his eyes closed. Then: “Okay. All better.”

 

As if waking up from a dream, he opens his eyes abruptly, and they lock with hers for a long moment. God, she really could just stare into those eyes all night if she had the time. 

 

“Thank you,” he says at the same time she blurts out “I’m sorry.”

 

There’s a beat of awkward silence. Then: “You’re welcome,” she says. 

 

“I forgive you,” he replies. “You’re still learning, after all.”

 

He’s right; she’s still learning. It’s a teacher-pupil dynamic at play, and nothing more. Anything else would be irresponsible. Not to mention he’s both physically older than her and literally immortal. 

 

“Yeah. I am.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_ “Hey, Harry,” she says, setting aside her book. “Why...are you here, exactly?” _

__

_ “Because,” he says, with that intensity that rarely comes out, “I can’t stop thinking about last night.” _

__

_ She stands up slowly, swallowing. “Last night? With the imposter demon?” _

__

_ “No. After that. When you graciously patched me up.” She sees his wounds now, healed significantly but still there. Why didn’t she notice them when he showed up? They’re right there.  _

__

_ “What about it?” she asks quietly as he approaches her. He’s moving slowly, but with purpose,  no holding back like he did that night.  _

__

_ “The part where I wanted to do this,” he says, and kisses her.  _

__

_ She’s swept away immediately; his lips move against hers fiercely, without delay, and she nips at his lower lip in turn. He backs her against the wall as she wraps her arms around his neck, and soon he has his hands on her thighs, pulling them up around his waist as he grinds against her-- _

 

**RIIIIIIIIING**

__

Mina nearly jumps out of bed at the sound of her alarm clock. It takes her a second to even remember her dream, but then

__

\-- _Oh shit._

__

Her clothes are stuck to her body with sweat, and she can tell where the dream was going by the wetness in her underwear. 

__

_I can’t be having this problem, she thinks._ There’s enough on her plate without this stupid crush.

__

As she climbs out of bed, all she thinks is a constant reminder to not touch Maggie. The last thing she needs is her kid sister freaking out over her random almost-sex dream about their demon-fighting teacher. Mina doesn’t even want to think about it, let alone talk about it. 

__

Well. She doesn’t want to think about it now, at least. Later...that’s another story. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Context: So Mina's individual power (like how Maggie has telepathy, Macy has telekinesis, etc) was going to be dreamwalking. I had this plan that she had a psychic connection with Angela Wu and whenever she slept, she'd end up in Angela's head and nightmares instead of her own, which was especially painful since she and Angela have a shared trauma (sexual harassment/assault at the hands of Professor Thaine.) This was also going to open the door to a lot of solo lessons between Mina and Harry as she tried to get her ability under control. 
> 
> Anyways, this takes place during the Halloween episode.

“I’m Mina Harker,” she says. “Like from--”

 

“Dracula. I get it.”

 

“It’s a pun.”

 

“Yeah, one that wasn’t funny last year, either. Or the year before that.”

 

Mina rolls her eyes. “Well damn, Audrey Hepburn, sorry not all of us can buy costumes that fit from Amazon.”

 

Maggie looks up from her oatmeal, pointing her spoon at Mina with a wounded expression. “That is unfair. You know I would never buy clothes from Amazon, even before Mel instituted her Bezos ban.”

 

Mina gives a conciliatory head tilt before untying her cape. “Fair. Anyway, I’m not really feeling Halloween this year. I still can’t close my eyes without seeing someone else’s nightmare, so you’ll have to forgive me for phoning it in.”

 

“Right.” Maggie glances up at her, leaning against the counter. “How are you holding up with that?”

 

Mina gives a humorless half-smile. “I think my dark circles answer for me.”

 

“No.” Maggie looks up at her fully. “Really. How are you?”

 

“I’m…” She takes quick stock of the situation. 

 

Pro: Knows she’s not crazy. 

 

Con: Trauma. 

 

Pro: Not having her own nightmares. 

 

Con: Forced to live in other people’s nightmares. 

 

Pro: Has magic powers. 

 

Con: Has one really shitty magic power. 

 

Pro: Has a cool new sister. 

 

Con: Has a dead mom. 

 

“I’m...holding up,” she says finally. “I’ve survived worse.”


End file.
